


A Very Clintasha Christmas

by TheNerdPrincess



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Clintasha - Freeform, Clintasha fluff, F/M, Fluff, clintasha christmas fluff, im a sucker for christmas fics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 05:29:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5816011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNerdPrincess/pseuds/TheNerdPrincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of short Clintasha one-shots, each loosely strung together and each based off a different Christmas prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Clint's POV. Prompt: First Christmas

Our first Christmas we were on mission in the Alps. I woke you up with kisses on the nose and you had pushed me away with a special smile I only ever get to see when you’re in those few seconds between sleeping and waking. (It’s why I always try to wake up before you.)  
I made us coffee in the lodge’s kitchen and brought it to where you were sitting up in bed, rereading the target’s file for the hundredth time. It wasn’t until I pulled it gently out of your hands that you looked up, eyebrows drawn together in confusion as you accepted the coffee mug I gave you.  
"Natasha," I had laughed softly, shaking my head. "Leave the mission for today."  
You drew back a little, probably wondering what was going on in my head.  
"It’s Christmas," I said. "I refuse to work on Christmas."  
Before you could say anything, I answered the question in your mind.  
"Yes, I checked with Coulson. He said the target isn’t likely to do anything in the next 24 hours."  
You thought about it for a moment, and I watched you closely. If you decided that Coulson was wrong and we really did need to continue constant observation on our target, I wouldn’t argue. (After all, you’re usually right about these things. You were in Budapest.)  
But you began to nod slowly, and took a sip of your coffee. Your eyes closed as you relished the warmth spreading from your stomach.  
"What are the plans, then?" you asked. I took your coffee out of your hands and set it, along with mine, on the bedside table.  
"Well, there’s going to be a celebration of lights this evening in that town a little further down the mountain," I said, pulling you into me so your back pressed against my chest and I had a face full of fuzzy red hair.  
"And until then?"  
"I bought groceries yesterday, there’s enough there for a nice Christmas dinner. But that will be in a couple hours at least. Until then, I’ve been working 30 hour shifts and I know you’re just as tired as I am."


	2. Finding A Tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chronological with First Christmas. Prompt: Finding A Tree

"Clint, we don’t need a tree. Christmas was three days ago, honestly!" Natasha exclaimed, rearranging her feet on the dashboard of Clint’s pickup truck.  
"That’s the beauty of it, Tasha. Everything will be on sale! Plus, we were on mission over official Christmas, we deserve another one." Clint had a big, goofy grin on his face as he spoke.  
"But I’m tiiiiired," she whined. "Why did we have to do this straight from debriefing?"  
Clint rolled his eyes. He knew he was glad, deep down, that Natasha felt comfortable enough around him to whine and complain, but it was a little annoying. However, he refused to let anything dampen his spirits.  
"Because. It will be fun!"  
"Great one Barton, you should be a lawyer."  
"Oh, stop being such a downer. Look, we’re here!" Clint turned into the tree farm and parked. The two exited the truck and stomped on the snowy ground, watching their breath get whipped away by the occasional wind.  
"You know you love me," Natasha teased, appearing beneath his arm and huddling into him slightly. She only had jeans, boots, a black top, and tan leather jacket on. Clint wrapped his arm around her a little tighter as they strode towards the office. It looked fairly abandoned.  
"You know I do," he said, then knocked on the office door after seeing that it was locked. They stood in silence for a moment.  
"Oh no," Natasha said in a monotone. "They’re not open. What a travesty."  
"Hush, Nat." Clint reprimanded gently. "I really want to do this, okay?"  
She looked up at him, their noses almost touching, and sighed.  
"Okay. But you knew when you signed up that I’m not romantic."  
He laughed softly. “Then why did I see you watching The Notebook last month? With tears in your eyes?”  
Natasha’s eyes widened slightly, then she pursed her lips and hit him lightly in the shoulder.  
"You saw no such thing."  
Before Clint could reply, the door to the office swung open, revealing an older man.  
"Sorry folks, I was on the phone. What can I do for y’all?" he said with a friendly smile.  
"We’d like a tree," Clint said, smiling slightly as he felt Natasha’s arm slip around his waist and her slight frame press up against him more from the cold.  
"Well, we were about to be closed for the season," the man said, gesturing to the festive ‘Closed’ sign behind him, "But I suppose I could help you out."  
He stepped into the cold and closed the door behind him.  
"We’re a bit short on trees this time of year, but what sort are you looking for?"  
"A short one," Natasha said instantly, thinking of the lowish ceiling of Clint’s apartment.  
"A symmetrical one," Clint added, remembering when Natasha had mentioned how annoying she found things that were lopsided.  
The man looked at them for a moment, then nodded once.  
"You folks up for a hike?"  
The two world class assassins nodded, and followed in the heavy footprints of the old man.  
Snow crunched beneath boots as the trio traversed up a large, steep hill. Once the reached the top, the man pointed down.  
"This one was a runt last year," he said. "Wasn’t even meant to be planted, the soil here isn’t as good as other locations on the farm. But I left it, to see if it’d make it. And then I didn’t cut it this year, just to see if anyone would climb that hill to see if there was anything on the other side. But you two," he eyed them critically, "I think this would be the perfect tree for you."  
As Natasha and Clint walked down the slope towards the tree, they had to agree. It only came to five feet, but the stockiness just added to the healthy, bright green and near-perfect cone shape.  
"It’s beautiful," Clint said, walking all the way around the tree. "Thank you."  
"You’re welcome," the man replied simply, with a small smile on his lined face. "Now why don’t you bring your truck down here, we’ll get it loaded up."  
Natasha took at the vibrant tree and smiled. Maybe this Christmas would be more fun than she thought.


	3. Decorating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chronological with "First Christmas" and "Finding A Tree"

Weezer’s Christmas album pumped through Clint’s flat, wafting the smell of gingerbread and peppermint chocolate along with the punk rock take on ‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing’. Natasha plugged in the lights entwining the tree just as a loud clattering came from the kitchen.  
“You okay?” she called from where she knelt on the fall, checking the tiny light bulbs along the bottom of the tree for failures.  
“Yup! All good,” came the reply, then a yelp and muttered curse. Natasha rolled her eyes, but was unable to stop the smile constantly tugging at her lips. They were celebrating Christmas. Together. Her first real Christmas, and she was lucky enough to share it with the idiot currently running cold water over a scalded hand. Clint had insisted that he take over the Christmas baking, citing the delicious meal they had shared on December 25th as credentials while shooing her out of the kitchen.  
They had decided, since they had already had a Christmas meal on actual Christmas, they would eat sweet treats and baked goods on their slightly late Christmas day.  
Just as Natasha had located a faulty bulb and unplugged the tree in order to replace it, Clint came in carrying a festive tray full of sugar cookies, peppermint bark, and soft gingerbread cake. Natasha had to admit, he was a great cook and an even better baker.   
“Mmm, these are good,” she said around the cookie she had snagged and now held in her mouth as she replaced the bulb and plugged the tree in again. Clint bit a part off her cookie and chewed thoughtfully.   
“Yeah, they are,” he agreed, ignoring her narrowed eyes pointed in his direction. She quickly ate the rest of the cookie and joined him on the couch. Wrapping her hands around the edges of the sleeves of her oversized Christmas sweater, she curled her legs around and leaned into Clint while contemplating the tree.  
Sparkling lights, glinting tinsel, and satiny red ribbon were all draped artfully around the green boughs.   
“You’re a good tree decorator,” Clint said.  
“Thanks. You’re a good baker,” she replied.  
“Do you want to get out the ornaments?”  
“Yes.”  
Natasha allowed a little of the happiness she felt to bleed into her tone as she started to get up, eyes on the bags full of cheap Christmas ornaments they had picked up that morning. A gentle hand on her supporting arm tugged slightly and she allowed it to pull her off balance, so she fell back onto the couch and across Clint’s lap. He leant down and gave her a soft kiss.  
“I love spending Christmas with you,” he said softly, staring down into her gorgeous green eyes.  
“I love having Christmas to spend with you,” she replied. His brow furrowed slightly.  
“Tasha, is this the first time you’ve celebrated Christmas?”  
“Maybe...?”  
“Well let’s start decorating the tree! It was always my favourite part of Christmas.”  
Natasha pushed herself off and caught Clint’s hand as he stood up too. They crossed the living room (Clint stepping onto and over the coffee table) and began examining their morning purchases.   
“I’ll unpackage, you hang?” Natasha asked, looking up at Clint.  
“Sure!”  
He positioned himself on her right, next to the twinkling tree. Natasha sat cross legged and quickly opened the box of red and gold baubles.  
“We should go ornament shopping,” she pondered, passing him a sparkling gold ball.  
“Tasha, we literally just did. Were you not there this morning?”  
“I know that, Barton. I just thought we should start collecting unique ornaments. Every year we could pick one out each.”  
Clint’s nose crinkled slightly as he accepted the next ornament, a red one. “What, like ‘Couple’s First Christmas’?” he asked.  
“God no!” Natasha exclaimed in disdain. “Something that represents the last year. And we’d each pick our own and soon the tree won’t seem so,” she gestured at the half decorated, catalog-worthy tree. “I don’t know, impersonal.” she finished, trailing off slightly. “Never mind, it was a stupid idea.”  
“No, it wasn’t,” Clint insisted. “Let’s go.”  
Natasha looked up. “Now?”  
He held out his open hand and smiled.


	4. Lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I say the fuck word in this chapter.

It was the Christmas of 2010, Natasha and Clint’s seventh year in their partnership, and seventh Christmas together.  
Well, they weren’t really together at the moment.  
“I told you that you should have used the fucking scaffolding!” Clint hissed into his com unit, swinging the sniper rifle and tracking a flash of red hair as he helplessly watched his partner run for her life, separated from her by a river and the fact they were on different rooftops.  
He had been in a foul mood all evening; upset about having to work on Christmas, upset that Natasha had to flirt with the target to get the plan rolling, upset that his nightmares had been getting worse. The eerily still darkness muffled with lazily falling snow only put him more on edge, even though it would be peacefully in almost any other situation, and maybe even romantic in some.  
Natasha told him exactly what she thought of his opinion and where he could stick it in angry, rapid Russian while ducking behind air ducts and dodging bullets. Her hair flying behind her, she searched for a way off the roof that was quickly turning into a death trap. Buried beneath all the anger he had balled up inside him, Clint felt a spark of fear. Then her eyes landed on him and Clint swore that, from hundreds of yards away in almost complete blackness, their eyes locked, and he knew exactly what she was going to do.  
“No no no no Natasha no!” He said, each word getting louder. If he hadn’t needed the night vision scope to see what she was doing, he would have gotten to his feet and watched in horror. As it was, he glued himself to the ground, muscles tensing around his weapon as he was reduced to a spectator.  
Checking the roof one last time, Natasha took several large steps back and paused for a minute, gauging the distance she would have to leap--the distance between the roof she was on and the one next to her.  
“Shut up, Barton,” she said, terse tone revealing exactly how likely she thought it was that she would actually make the jump.  
“Natasha-” he started, not even knowing what he would say if he continued his sentence. She could die, and there he was, lost for words and helpless to do anything to save her.  
“I said, shut up!” she exclaimed, saving him the trouble. With that, she started running. Right before Clint was sure she would just run straight off the edge of the building, she pushed off. Clint heard exhale sharply (whether in exertion or pain he couldn’t tell) and found himself suddenly unable to breathe as he watched her soar through the air for a mere moment, before landing heavily on the other rooftop and half-rolling, half-bouncing across the gravel a few times.   
She didn’t move. She wasn’t moving. Clint’s pulse sped up as he kept his eye stuck to the scope and strained his ears over the com to hear her groan, breathe, anything. Then, as slowly as the fluffy snowflakes were falling all around him and turning his purple beanie into a patchwork of white and purple, he heard her groan. (Reviewing what she had said, perhaps fluffy snowflakes was not the best analogy…)   
As soon as he had an indication she was alive, his rifle swung back to the other rooftop where three gunmen had their weapons aimed towards the opposite roof where his partner lay, waiting to riddle her with bullets as soon as she got up. Three clean shots later, he hastily packed the rifle into it’s bag and slung it over his back.   
Clint’s feet flew as he raced down the stairs in the abandoned apartment building on the top of which he had been posted. Vaguely, he realized he had probably permanently damaged the roof access door in his haste.  
From the darkness of the building he burst onto the relatively well-lit street, sending snow swirling around his feet as he attempted to counteract the momentum he had gained while racing through the building. His feet turned towards the bridge that separated him from his partner’s last known location, and as he ran only one thought looped through his mind.  
“Please still be alive please still be alive please still be alive please still be alive…”  
All the anger he had kept hidden away inside had been completely burned away when the spark of fear had caught fire, fanned by Natasha’s pained groan. A thousand scenarios played out in his mind’s eye, and none of them good.  
He rounded the corner, skidding on the icy pavement and almost falling. Sheer willpower seemed to be keeping him up as he ran.  
The suspension bridge was fairly long, decorated by the city in a thousand twinkling lights, huge wreaths hanging at it’s highest points. Clint’s eyes were drawn to the left almost as soon as he hit the bridge, running across the building where Natasha had been. It was quite a ways away, nothing more than a large black blob on the far side of the river.   
Then he turned his head to look where he was going and nearly stumbled in relief as he saw a slight figure limp-jog out of the shadows on the other side of the bridge, one hand pressed to her side and the other wrapped around herself.   
Clint managed to slow down enough to not bowl them both over, and caught her gently in his arms as they met in the middle of the bridge.  
“Hey, hey Tasha, are you ok?” he said urgently in a quiet voice, keeping one arm on her waist and cupping her cheek with the other, encouraging her to lift her head.  
She nodded silently and shuffled a little closer to him, pressing her face into his chest and breathing in a warm scent that was just him. It was gunsmoke and ash and straw and pizza and home. After a moment where they both allowed some of the stress to melt away, she stepped apart slightly.  
“I laid the charges,” she said. “The building will blow any second now.”  
Clint gave one bark of laughter, looking at the sky for a moment and shaking his head.  
“Natasha, if you think I give a rat’s tail about the mission right now, you haven’t learned much from the seven years we’ve worked together.” He said, then placed a hand on the back of her head and leant down slightly, pulling her into a soft, urgent kiss. As their lips met there was an explosion.  
Like, a literal explosion. The building exploded and they kissed and the snow fell. It was cliche and very spy-movie ending, but dammit if two assassins who had been through hell and back couldn’t have one spy-movie ending where the girl gets the guy and the guy gets the girl then the universe could go tie itself into knots for eternity.   
So they stood there in the middle of the bridge, lit by Christmas lights and the explosion of their own design, each trying to show the other how they felt in that one kiss before they had to orchestrate their own extraction.  
And for that one moment, everything was glorious.


	5. Cookies

“I’m baking,” Clint insisted, bracing both arms on the counter either side of him and attempting to block Natasha from entering the kitchen. “You can’t come in.”  
Abandoning her attempts at half-heartedly trying to get through the narrow doorway currently mostly full of the archer, Natasha took a step back and crossed her arms. “But I want my Nutella.”  
“For fudge’s sake, Nat!” Clint threw his hands up in exasperation, eyes towards the ceiling. “You’ll live without your Nutella-”  
As soon as he moved, Natasha darted forward, ducking between him and the doorway, eyes fixed on the pantry. A moment later Clint’s hand wrapped around her wrist and he threw her off balance enough to tackle her to the floor, pinning her with his entire body weight as he tried to cover her eyes.   
“It’s a surprise!” he yelled, as Natasha wiggled beneath him, spitting at him in Russian.  
“I want my Nutella! You handed me a plate of dry white toast, you cruel man!” she replied, twisting herself slightly as she struggled. The next thing Clint knew, he was flailing as he began to fall backwards from the standing position Natasha had launched him to. She disappeared into the pantry, locking the door behind her.  
Trying to break his fall, Clint’s fingertips landed on the corner, catching on a warm, smooth surface as well…  
“Crap.”  
Clint’s bum hit the floor, then his head hit the cupboard, and sugar cookies rained down around him as the baking platter clattered to the ground.  
“Aw, cookies, no…” Clint took in the carnage around him. His carefully crafted cookies were in ruins around him.  
“Barton, what did you do now?” Natasha said, emerging from the pantry with an open Nutella jar and a small spoon fashioned from tin foil.  
He looked up morosely. “I ruined the cookies, I’m sorry.”  
Natasha carefully stepped over and plunked herself down next to him, abandoning her Nutella on the counter as she did.  
“Well…” she began, plucking a cookie from the floor and taking a bite. She chewed contemplatively for a moment. “I wouldn’t say ruined. These are really good actually.”  
Clint perked up some. “Thanks! I made them from scratch.”  
Looking at her cookie, Natasha nodded once and turned to him. “There is only one recourse, Agent Barton. We must eat all of the cookies.”  
Carefully schooling his face so only the slightest of smiles showed, Clint nodded back. “You’re perfectly right, Agent Romanoff.”  
He plucked a cookie off the tile floor and took a bite. They chewed in silence for a little bit.  
“You mopped the floor the other day, right Clint?”  
“Yeah.”  
By evening all of the cookies were gone, and the two assassins baked a new batch to take to the neighbors together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blues Brothers movie reference, anyone?


	6. Dressing Up The Pet(s)

Clint and Natasha walked into the pet store together, stopping just inside the doorway. Before either of them could admit they didn’t know what they were doing, a perky employee popped up.  
“Hi!” he exclaimed with a huge smile. “I’m Bryan! What can I help you with today?”  
“We’re looking for a christmas costume…” Clint started, then trailed off, unsure how to proceed.  
“For a fish,” Natasha finished for him, a carefully-schooled straight face presenting itself.  
Bryan’s smile faltered slightly.  
“A...fish?”  
The two assassins nodded, and a light of determination entered Bryan’s eye as he clapped his hands together.   
“Ok! Let me see what I can do.”  
He led them towards the back of the store, Clint pausing for a long moment by the puppies.  
“I miss Lucky,” he told Natasha, his fingers wriggling through the bars of a crate as an excited puppy gnawed on them.  
“I know,” she said, “But Kate needs him more than you do right now.”  
Straightening, Clint scoffed. “Of course she does! Girl couldn’t keep out of trouble if I locked her up in a padded cell and a straight jacket.”  
Natasha rolled her eyes. “Come on, Bryan’s getting away from us.” They hurried to catch up with the young man.  
“Right,” he said, once they had rejoined him. “I don’t have costumes for fish, but I do have decorations for fish tanks.”  
Clint and Natasha looked at each other, and shrugged in unison.  
“That’ll work.”  
“Thanks, Bryan.”  
His smile returned. “Anytime! Just let me know once you’re ready to check out.”  
He stepped away, whistling quietly.  
“Santa,” Clint said, the instant he was out of earshot.  
“No!” Natasha protested. “Christmas tree!”  
“But Santaaaaa.”  
“Santa is a fictional construct perpetrated by parents to attempt to control their children during the holiday season. We’re getting a Christmas tree.”  
“Bob likes Santa!”  
“Bob is a goldfish with an attention span of about six seconds.”  
***  
That evening, Natasha and Clint curled up on the couch with mugs of hot chocolate, quietly contemplating the tree and drifting towards sleep. Bob swum around his tank happily, weaving between a Christmas tree and a statuette of Santa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta mention my girl Kate Bishop somewhere! And Lucky too, of course.


	7. Ice Skating

“Yeah...this is a bad idea,” Clint said as he wobbled on his ice skates, warily eyeing the lake.  
“Nonsense!” Natasha exclaimed, stepping onto the ice and gliding a little ways before turning back and reaching out her hands. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”  
“No, I mean this is a really bad idea.”  
“Why? And that has literally never stopped you before.”  
Clint sighed loudly. “I’ve never ice skated before.”  
Natasha’s eyebrow rose.  
“Really now? Well that just finally gives me a chance to share something from my past with you. Something good, at least.”  
“Tash, I don’t think…”  
Grabbing his hands gently, Natasha looked Clint in the eye.   
“Clint, you’ve shared Christmas with me. You’ve taught me about baking and decorating and that weird, creepy elf thing. Let me teach you how to ice skate.”  
He looked at her for a moment, then planted a quick kiss on her forehead.   
“Alright, alright Romanoff. But if I break through the ice with those extra pounds I gained from eating an entire batch of cookies with you, that’s on you.”  
She laughed, then began to skate backwards, forcing Clint to either be pulled onto his face or step out onto the ice. He chose the latter.  
“Just be aware of your center of balance,” Natasha said, after he wobbled precariously forward and crushed her hands with his grip. He adjusted his stance and from there it was much smoother sailing. Before long they were skating in lazy circles and figure eights together, hand in hand.  
“So how long have you been skating?” Clint asked.  
“Since I was a little girl. Ivan taught me, before the Red Room, and they let me keep doing it because it was good exercise, and I was good at it. I translated skating to dancing later on,” she replied, “but I’ve tried to keep at the level I’m at by practicing when I can.”  
“If you’ve been skating all that long, you must know more than just how to move forwards and backwards.”  
“I do,” she replied simply. “I would compete within the Red Room. Routines set to music, that sort of thing.”  
“Can you show me?” Clint asked. Natasha gave a small smile, but her eyes were distant.  
“I need music,” she said, “Come on, I’ll race you to the edge!” And she took off.  
***  
The next day, Clint woke her up with a cup of coffee and a barely restrained smile.  
“What have you plotted,” Natasha asked suspiciously, accepting the coffee and narrowing her eyes at him through the fuzz of her red hair.  
“Me? Plot? You offend me my dear, I would do no such thing!” He exclaimed, a hand pressed to his chest.  
“Mhmm.”  
“I thought we might go ice skating again, I want to make sure I remember how to.”  
“Sure, Barton. We can go ice skating again,” Natasha said, still watching him out of the corner of her eye as she drank her coffee.  
Clint rushed her through her morning routine, and soon they were trudging through the snow back to the lake where they had skated the day before.   
“What’s this?” Natasha asked as they arrived, pointing at the object on the bench by the lakeside.  
“A speaker,” Clint replied, plugging his phone into it. “You said you needed music, so I got you some. What song?”  
“Clint, I don’t know about this…”  
“What song, Tahsa?” he interrupted her softly. She thought for a moment, lacing her skates up tightly.  
“Primavera,” she said as she stood up and stepped onto the ice, skating ponderously while she waited for him.  
“By Ludovico Einaudi, right?”  
“Sure.”  
He started the music, and Natasha began to skate backwards, arms rising slightly as she gained speed. She was a bird in flight, and Clint could do nothing but just absorb how perfect she looked on the ice, completely herself as she spun and danced across the surface in time to the music. As it sped up, so did she, her movements becoming more and more complex. Clint caught a glimpse of her face as she flew by, and her eyes were closed.   
The cold disappeared, and for that moment it was just the two of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all I have at the moment, but there's nothing to say I won't write more! Do you have any prompts or ideas? I'd welcome them, just leave me a comment!


End file.
